It finally happened. I entered the dark world of blogging. I never understood why anyone would want to know that I woke up, had a bowl of cereal, took a shower, etc. And I still don't understand. But this Blog is different. I was convinced that if I am serious about writing, then I needed to blog about writing. So this blog will be dedicated to the craft of writing in all its various aspects. So join in the fun!

Wednesday, June 15, 2016

Superfriends

This story intentionally follows comic book canon only loosely.

The
doorbell chimed throughout the mansion. A tall, white-haired butler clicked
across the tiled floor to the doorway. As he opened the door, a dark-haired man
stood in the pouring rain.

“Welcome, Mr. Kent,” said the butler.

“Alfred,” the man replied as he handed the butler a
pair of glasses. “I’m always glad when I can take those off. Especially toward
the end of the day, they really hurt my eyes.”

“Indeed, sir.” Alfred carefully set the glasses next
to a potted plant on the entryway table. “You are the last to arrive. The others
are in the den.”

Mr. Kent strode across the entryway toward a door spilling
light into the foyer. As he entered the room, a hexagonal table stood in the
middle with five chairs pulled up to it. A man with a firm, square jaw met him
at the door with a handshake. He wore a black cape and mask that looked like it
had cat ears pointing up from the sides.

“Clark, so glad you could make it tonight.”

“Me too, Bruce. I wasn’t sure if Lois was going to
let me go or not.”

“How is Lois?”

“Fine. Still unsure if she loves Clark Kent or
Superman.”

“You mean she still hasn’t figured out it’s the same
person?” Bruce chuckled lightly.

Clark shook his head and sighed. “No. You know, for
being such a brilliant investigative reporter, sometimes I think she’s rather
clueless. Our relationship would be so much easier if I could just tell her,
but then that puts her in even more danger than she gets herself into.”

“That’s why it’s so much easier not to get seriously
involved with anyone.”

“But that’s so much lonelier too. Am I right, Pete?”
Clark called across the room to a young man sitting at the table looking at a
handful of cards.

“I feel you,” Peter called back.

“Well, let’s forget our troubles and play some
poker,” Bruce said, clapping Clark on the back.

Clark nodded as they walked toward the table. He
shook hands with Peter, who wore jeans and a t-shirt, and nodded toward the
only woman in the room, a buxom brunette.

“Hey, Diana. How are things tonight?”

“Quiet, so far. Sorry to overhear about Lois. She’s
sensitive; she’ll come around sometime. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if she
knows, but she’s just afraid to admit it.” She patted Clark’s arm as he sat
beside her.

A man in jeans, a button-up shirt, and sportcoat on
the other side of Clark spoke up. “Are we here to bemoan failed relationships,
or are we here to play poker?”

“Thor
and the other Bruce are taking some much needed R&R. Steve is working in
Europe. And Logan just flat-out refused to come.”

“Sounds
like him,” Peter said.

“What’s
against inviting more women?” Diana said.

“I’ve
got nothing against women,” Tony said.

Bruce
rolled his eyes. “There aren’t that many women of our caliber. I’ve invited Natasha
and Jean over the years, but they’ve usually refused me.”

“I’ll
try and get Storm next time. I think she’d have fun,” said Diana.

“Again
with the unfair advantage,” Tony piped up. “She’s got those milky eyes that are
impossible to read.”

“Feeling
threatened, are we, Tony?” asked Clark.

“It’s
not like you couldn’t afford to lose a game,” Peter muttered.

“’Losing
something to a woman’ is usually where at least a third of my money goes,” Tony
said.

“Come
off it,” Diana said. “Let’s play.”

Alfred
dealt the cards and the group perused them in silence. That’s how most of their
games went – silently, other than declaring bets. Evenly matched, one night’s
winnings would go to one player, while the next night’s would go to another.

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